The goldish ring color is fading,
The polaroids are old and dusty,
My heart is cold even though it's pacing.
Tell me darling, in my sleep,
*Is our love gone with the ring?

we watched raccoons eat our piled-up three day old trash

through the rectangular kitchen window above the sink

angled light emptied through the screen

that we thanked God was there

unopened decks of Bicycle playing cards gripped

the dusted counter for fear of flowing

dislocating elbows away from our stomachs

baring four ivory wrists to the photon flood

at the time a polaroid was a mark of friendship
so we decided to go raid a photobooth
but the pictures never captured
they didn't get the time to

because across the street was a fancy new camera shop
with a fancy new cashier
who had pretty, pretty hair
and could actually fit into a polaroid with you

and i was surrounded by the walls of a madhouse
from inside the photobooth
because you entangled the curtain entrance
so i was locked in

i wanted to see nothing
so i stared directly into the camera lenses
hoping the flash would blind me
because apparently you're blinded and happy

but i hit the wrong button
and the flash never came
but there were pictures printed
just of your hands around her waist

i took about 50 copies
and taped them to the lampposts lining abandoned cemeteries
i tossed the receipt into the lake,
i scattered the letters of your name into the rain

What you don't see
is the way I wait,
watching her braid
worries in her hair
speckling small daisies,
my eyes like tumblers
gulping her in swigs
as she perches glasses
on the arch of her nose,
and then we'll take
a photo
to remark on how
we were back then
and now.

Bitter.
Enfold me in it.
Steel body and diamond crusted ears
So I can feel no pain
And hear no outer influences.

   Hard.
   Turn me into stone.
   Infuse me, weld my cracks
   From a past never to be renewed
   And too stoic to ever feel another's warmth.

      Bold.
      Let myself take whomever I want
      Whenever I want
      Without consequence of being
      Anything but concrete.

         I'll be the manifestation of a developing polaroid
         Only to be swayed and
         Persuaded to come into focus
         By the tickle of murmured wind
         And golden embers of light.

             Black and white
             Color
             Negative
             Sepia­
             I could be it all.